


The Box

by Bloodsong



Series: Malcolm & Thea [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Aquaphobia, Child Abuse, Gen, I have this thing where I'm obsessed with Malcolm Merlyn, Musophobia, Phobias, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2597339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsong/pseuds/Bloodsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fear is the mind-killer.  Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration."  Malcolm teaches Thea how to overcome fear.  WARNING: read the notes and trigger warnings inside.</p><p>Spoilers: Season 2 and 3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Box I

**Author's Note:**

> Malcolm teaches Thea to overcome her fears. Or, yeah, you can just read that as "Malcolm tortures Thea."
> 
> Some of you have been enjoying the father-daughter relationship of my Malcolm & Thea stories. You probably won't like this one, then. If you are brave, you can try it, but if you do, PLEASE read the whole thing to the end. Especially if you start to hate Malcolm.
> 
> I tried to classify this version of Malcolm as a different one from my usual... like evil!Malcolm from "The Prisoner" or evil!sadistic!Malcolm from "Broken Arrow." But it's not. It's him; it's still him, my "the nicest guy in the world" Malcolm. I find this rather disturbing. But anyway...
> 
> Timeline: This story takes place in Corto Maltese. It follows canon (so far, anyway). It is not directly related to "Turning Point," but can be seen as a continuation of that story, as well as "How I Met My Father."
> 
> This fic comes with trigger warnings. I write very close 3rd person POV; you may experience unpleasant sensations reading this. Do not read if you are afraid of rats (unless you enjoy being squicked out).
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: musophobia (fear of rats/mice/rodents), aquaphobia (fear of drowning), psychological torture, child abuse, physical abuse, suffocation.
> 
> Please Note: there is no sexual abuse!
> 
> Props to King Diamond, who first recognized desensitization therapy as an interesting vehicle for torture in The Spider's Lullaby.
> 
> PS: Just for the record, I like rats. But it's true, they're not latrine animals. :X

* * *

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

\- Frank Herbert, _Dune_

* * *

**The Box I**

===#===

It was just a rat.

Thea dropped the trash bag and bolted in through the cafe's back door, panting, a hand to her chest. Malcolm, who was sitting at the back table reading a newspaper, went on alert. "What is it?"

"There's a big-ass rat out there!" she told him, wide-eyed.

With a small huff of annoyance, he relaxed. "I'm sure it's more afraid of you than you are of it. After all, you're a lot bigger, and you know Tae Kwan Do." He returned his attention to the financial section.

"It's a rat! A _huge_ rat. They're slimy, dirty, crawling, sneaking, disease-carrying fleabags!" She shuddered. "And they bite!"

Malcolm frowned. "Actually, I think they're more furry than slimy," he said, masking his concern with dry humor.

Thea shot him a glare. She clenched her teeth and actually growled. "You're the big manly man! You go get rid of it!"

"Just bang on the dumpster with a broom; I'm sure it will scurry away."

With another growl of exasperation, she grabbed the broom and went back out as if she were entering enemy territory, expecting to be ambushed at any moment.

Malcolm chewed his lip a moment. This was a problem he would have to handle. That afternoon, he began setting out traps, but it would take him a couple of weeks to get everything ready for Thea's new training.

===#===

Her dad wanted her to wear just shorts and a sport top for today's session. He, as always, wore his master's gi. She was curious as to what they would be doing. He beckoned, and she followed him to the back room of the villa.

"You finished building the coffin?" she asked. That was what she'd dubbed his latest project, since he wouldn't tell her what it was.

"It's not a coffin," he said for the umpteenth time, but he was distracted now. "It's just a box." He stared down at it for a minute, then he turned to her. "A few months ago, you asked me to help you become stronger, to teach you how to not be hurt." He searched her eyes. "Do you trust me?"

She scraped her teeth over her lower lip while she gave the question due consideration. Then she nodded. "I do."

"Good." He gave her a faint smile. "Get in."

She quirked a brow, but shrugged. It's not as if she were claustrophobic or anything. "Okay, but I'm not staying in here until Halloween." She stepped into it, turned, and sat down. It was a little narrower and more shallow than an actual coffin, as far as she could judge.

Malcolm gestured for her to lie back, and she did so. "Trust is an important part of this training." He took her hand and secured it with a rope threaded through the side of the box.

She let him tie her other arm, too, briefly wondering what kind of trust building exercise this was. She felt a twinge of apprehension as he secured her ankles as well. If this were really an endurance test, he could bury her out in the yard for a few days. But she quelled this feeling with trust for her father. If he did put her through something like that, it would only be to make her stronger, and he would never do anything that she couldn't actually handle.

"Good," he said, with another reassuring smile, though some shadow prevented it from reaching his eyes. "Today, I want to teach you about fear. 'Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.'" He tipped his head. "Have you ever heard that before?"

She shook her head, her earlier flippancy slowly draining away.

He shrugged. "Well. It was popular in certain circles, oh... a while back." He grabbed something from the table. It was a wooden stick, about six inches long, wrapped with a leather strap. He held it near her face, nodded when she tentatively opened her mouth.

Her heart thumped as she bit down on it.

He stood and picked up a pair of thick leather gloves, began pulling them on. "It holds a basic truth: fear will weaken you, paralyze you, leave you vulnerable. You need to face your fear, to pass through it like fire. Just like pain, it can be overcome." He moved out of sight a moment, then brought back a wicker basket. Thea suddenly knew what was rustling around in there. She tensed as her father reached in and pulled out a squirming brown creature.

He lowered it towards her, and she tensed further, biting down on the stick. Her eyes went wide as she stared at the rat. Malcolm held it firmly, but not tightly; it wriggled to free itself, its scabrous little paws scratching at the leather glove, its scaly tail gyrating. Its whiskers twitched as if seeking flesh for it to bite into; it's black eyes looked back at her, soulless.

She whimpered and turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Open your eyes," Malcolm snapped. "Look at it!"

She had to obey. She squealed when he held it lower, closer to her.

" _Look_ at it. It's not hurting you."

One hind leg slipped loose and kicked. Malcolm shifted his grip, and she thought he was going to drop it. She cried out even as she bit down on the gag. Its naked tail brushed her abdomen, and her muscles clenched. Another squeal broke from her throat.

"It's not going to hurt you," her father insisted in a maddeningly calm tone. "Hold still."

Oh no, he _wouldn't!_ She thrashed, but there was no room to hide in the narrow box. Now the thing was on her stomach! She felt its weight, its oily fur. She screamed when it started to move towards her face.

Malcolm kept hold of its tail. Its tiny claws scratched at her skin as it tried to break free. She took another breath and screamed again. _Get it off!_

He picked it up, letting it dangle head down from his fist. "They are rather dirty," he muttered as he brushed the edge of his hand across her midriff. Did that thing just _shit_ on her? She tried to recoil, but it was on her skin, smeared there and wet. That filthy thing! She was about to spit out this damned stick and tell him to get it _away_ from her, but he lowered it again.

Its front paws were bicycling in a frantic blur as it tried in vain to escape. Malcolm rested the rat's front quarters on her stomach, and it scrabbled and clutched at her, trying to grab her. It felt as if it would dig a hole through her skin. She tried to buck it off, but he just held it there.

"Thea, stop it!"

Then the rat was on her; it scrambled freely onto her breast. She screamed again and twisted, tried to throw it off. It lost its footing and smacked against her chin. It slid off as she whipped her head to the side, then it landed partly on her hair, its whiskers brushing her ear. She squealed and twisted.

"Hold still," her father demanded, but she couldn't. She could feel its fat body against her head, its questing snout poking around. "Look at me!" Malcolm put a hand on her shoulder.

She stared desperately at him, pleading with her eyes to for him to take this thing away.

He didn't.

"Thea, I understand, sweetheart; I really do. But you _have to_ stop panicking." He pinned her with his cold eyes, and she held onto his gaze as if it were a lifeline. "Take a breath. Good." Her exhale came out as a whimper. "Now focus on what it is doing. Feel it. It is _not_ hurting you."

Thea shook with fear. It was stupid; he was right; but she couldn't stop it. That filthy _thing_ was crawling around by her head! And she wanted it the hell away from her!

She whimpered again. _Please!_

He shook his head slowly, and reached into the basket for two more rats.

Thea screamed, now half in fear and half in anger. She whipped her head back and forth. _No! No! No!_

The second rat dropped onto her belly, then the third. They bumped each other and splayed their paws as she tried to shake them off. She heard a high-pitched squeak loud in her ear as she set the first rat running around in a frenzy. She could see it out of the corner of her eye, trying to climb the sheer wall of the box.

Another rat landed on her thigh. She jerked and it fell off. Then more landed on her hip and stomach. She screamed for it to stop. They scampered over her. One slid down between her legs, and she thrashed away from it. That only brought her shoulders and head into contact with the others.

Thea closed her eyes and kept screaming. Rats dashed everywhere, around her, over her, under her knee, under her neck. She jerked her leg. She kicked out. She felt a fat fuzzy body between her foot and the box. She pressed to stomp the damned thing to death, but it squirmed and squished, and it was too disgusting.

They were all over her, claws scratching her skin, clinging to her clothing. She could smell them, their animal musk, their excretions that they left, warm and wet, all over her. Just like them, she couldn't escape, no matter what she did. Panic overwhelmed her senses.

===#===

"Thea, stop it! Hold still!" Malcolm's chest hurt deep inside, but he knew he had to be strong, for his daughter's sake. He dropped the last of the rats into the box with her, then leaned closer and put his gloved hands on either side of her face. "Open your eyes. Thea, look at me! Look into my eyes."

He held her head from thrashing, and she opened her eyes.

"Look at me, baby. Just calm down. You're safe."

She whimpered and squealed, panted in abject fear. Her body jerked every time the rats shifted or bumped into her.

" _Listen to me!_ Stop panicking." His eyes bored into hers, willing her to be strong. "They're _not_ hurting you. You are doing this to yourself!"

Her breath tore out in ragged sobs. Tears poured from her wide, pleading eyes.

"Get control! Come on, baby; you can do it. Just breathe."

She started shaking, and her eyes unfocused. Slowly, they rolled up. Malcolm bit on the fingertips of his left glove to pull it off, grimacing at the acrid tang of rat piss. He lightly slapped her cheek to bring her around. "Stay with me, baby."

Tremors violently wracked her body. Her eyes were open, but he couldn't tell if she was truly seeing him. He tapped the skin of her face with his bare fingertips, but her responses were dulling.

Then he saw the light go out of her eyes, leaving them blank, like a doll's. She snapped like a puppet cut loose from its strings, and her body went limp.

===#===

Thea felt herself floating.

She saw, heard, and felt nothing, just that floating sensation. And it was very warm.

Her eyes drifted open, and she saw the warm yellow tiles of the bath. She was in the tub, neck deep in hot, soapy water. She felt a hand on her cheek; it was her father, kneeling next to the tub, his sleeves rolled up, holding her so her head didn't slip under the water. She gasped faintly as he came into focus.

"You awake now?" he asked gently. Slowly, he withdrew his hand.

"I..." Her voice was hoarse. She was going to ask where she was, but she could see. She didn't know how she'd gotten there, and - a quick glance down showed the thick carpet of bubbles on the surface of the water obscured her naked body. "What happened?" She sat up a bit straighter.

"What do you remember?"

"I... remember... the r-" Panic kindled in her belly. "R-Ra-" She trembled.

"It's all right; you're safe." Malcolm leaned over to embrace her, and she tried to shy away, but there was nowhere to go. He pulled her to his chest where his gi was warm and dry. He rubbed her bare shoulders. "Everything is all right. You did well. Next time won't be so hard."

Another tremor passed through her.

"Shhh," he soothed. "It's all right."

Thea suddenly became aware of her nakedness, and she stiffened. This time, Malcolm noticed her distress and released her. He turned away. She hugged herself and slipped back down in the tub.

"If you're all right now," he said, "I should leave you alone."

She nodded, then belatedly realized he couldn't see it. "I'm fine," she rasped out.

"Good." He rose to his feet and left.

She remained in the bath, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, slowly coming back to herself. She watched steam lazily rising from the water. It was warm. And most of all, clean. After those things peed all over her...! She shivered and started scrubbing at her skin. Filthy, diseased things!

=== _X_ ===

* * *

_End Notes:_

_"Today, I want to teach you about fear. 'Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.'" He tipped his head. "Have you ever heard that before?"_

_..._

_He shrugged. "Well. It was popular in certain circles, oh... a while back."_

Bloodsong: hang on, Brain. Are you trying to tell me Malcolm was... a nerd!?

Bloodsong's Brain: Read his trading card info thing again. It says he has genius level intelligence, doesn't it?

...wow, you learn something new every day!

.

The original quote is from _Dune_. Perhaps you might know it better from Peter Puppy in _Earthworm Jim_. :X

 


	2. The Box II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thea can channel her fear into anger and hate, but she still can't conquer it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT:
> 
> Rating: Mature  
> Flavor: Drama  
> Language: some  
> Violence: some  
> Nudity: none  
> Sex: none  
> Other: animals are harmed; prior trigger warnings still apply
> 
> Author's Note:
> 
> The thing about phobias... they're not rational.

**The Box II**

===#===

It was just a rat.

Meandering on its way to steal some garbage, until the arrow slammed through its body, and it lay twitching in the grass.

Malcolm had let them loose in the villa's back garden. Thea was hunting down the damned dirty things. Another half dozen or so lay scattered around the yard.

Malcolm sat at the table, under the umbrella, sipping his coffee and reading another international newspaper, while Thea lurked on the patio. She'd dumped a pile of trash in the corner of the yard to lure the rats out. An arrow hissed past the table; Malcolm didn't look up. A few minutes later, another arrow flew.

"All your damned rats are dead," Thea called.

"There were fourteen," he said, still not looking up. "I only counted thirteen shots."

"I hit two with one."

Now Malcolm turned in his chair to see. Two rats were indeed skewered on a single shaft. "Impressive," he said. He flipped the paper over. "Now you need to retrieve your arrows."

===#===

Thea frowned. _Shit!_ She looked towards the nearest rat. Well, it was dead, wasn't it? She walked over to the bloody thing. The arrow shaft stuck upward, a bit at an angle. She touched it, grasped it, but as she started to pull, the rat's body moved and its limp legs shifted against the ground. She flinched back, biting down a yelp.

She glanced over her shoulder. Her father was still engrossed in his reading. She tried again, but every time the legs bent or flexed, she could feel the rats running over her bare skin, scratching with their claws.

She swallowed her gorge, then made a quick grab for the arrow. Of course, it was lodged firmly through the dead disgusting animal, and the carcass jerked with it.

She wiped her hand compulsively on her shirt, because even touching the arrow that was touching the rat made her feel filthy. _Come on_ , she chided herself. She was going to be in trouble if she couldn't do this.

All right. If she stepped on the rat to hold it down, she could pull the arrow free, and she wouldn't have to actually touch the body. Stifling an involuntary whimper of disgust, she gripped the shaft and put her left foot down on the carcass. It compressed like a soft doll, with a faint squishing sound as blood spread over her sneaker.

She pulled at the arrow, but the damned thing just wouldn't slide out. Another whimper escaped her throat as the carcass twisted and stretched under her foot. She could feel it moving, even through the rubber sole. More blood poured out onto the grass. She could smell it, underlying the foul odor of feces.

She gave a desperate yank, and the rat nearly wriggled out from under her foot, desperate to escape. In an instant, she was back in that box, with the living rat squirming against her flesh.

She dropped it and bolted back inside the villa.

===#===

Malcolm raised his eyes. A wave of sadness washed over him, and he sighed. He set aside his coffee and paper, and pulled the basket out from under the table. Then he set about collecting the carcasses.

===#===

"Thea!" her father called as he came inside. "Thea, come here!"

She went as far as the doorway to that room. The room with the box. He had the wicker basket with him, and she could see arrow shafts sticking out the top; she caught a glimpse of crimson-streaked fur. "No..."

He set his burden down next to the box. "Thea," he said gently, "you have to do this.

"No..."

"You need to face your fears and conquer them."

All she could do was shake her head in denial. No more, never again.

"Please," he said, making her look at him. His face was painted with compassion. "It's better if you do this of your own free will. Get in the box."

"No!" She fled.

===#===

Malcolm took a deep breath and turned his gaze skyward. He didn't want to do this, but he could not weaken, not now. If he wasn't strong enough to train her, how would she become strong in turn? "Thea, get back here!" he yelled down the hall. He could _not_ treat her like his daughter.

" _Deshi!_ " He called her 'student' so he could separate his duties as a Master from his duties as a father, and so she would know he was only doing this to teach her. And that she must obey. " _Deshi_ , I said get out here! _Now!_ "

He advanced down the hall, and she appeared in the doorway of her room. She cringed against it like a frightened mouse. "Please, I don't want to..."

This weakness in her made him angry. "We are training, right now. Get over here!" He reached to grab her, and she lashed out.

It was instinctive, neither he nor she had time to blink, and it had no strength or technique. Her nails raked his cheek. Just as fast and reactionary, he slapped her across the face.

She staggered, then ducked past him. He grabbed her arm, and she turned, pulling him with her, across her body, using his arm as a lever. Her foot shot out across his path and in an instant, he was thrown face first towards the floor. He tucked into an aikido breakfall, rolling over his shoulder. He stopped his momentum and twisted around to snatch at her ankle as she tried to flee.

She fell heavily, catching herself on her arms. She kicked wildly, but he held on. Her hands scrabbled at the hallway floor, the rug, clawing to pull away from him. He got to his knees and dragged her back.

Her legs bicycled, her arms flailed out. Weakly, ineffectually, not with the focus and precise strikes he had shown her. His lip curled. "This is what happens when you panic," he snarled as he shifted his grip to her arms and hauled her to her feet. "It makes you weak!"

"No!" She thrashed, again to no effect, as he dragged her to the back room. Finally, she found the wherewithal to drop a hammer fist to his groin, but he easily deflected it with his leg. He manhandled her around to the box.

"No!" she sobbed out.

"You have to do this!" He shoved her down. The box caught her at the back of her shins, and she tumbled into it, partially guided by his hands. Once she was down, he had to let go. She threw herself at him, and he lashed out with a chop to her neck - not too hard, just enough to stun her for a bit. She fell back, and he got her wrists and ankles secured.

She fought them hard enough to scrape the skin raw. "Let me go!" The whites of her eyes showed all the way around her irises.

Malcolm lifted the first impaled rat. "Sweetheart, I know you can do this."

" _No!_ " She thrashed and bucked hard within the box. She squealed and pinched her eyes shut.

"Look at this," he ordered. " _Look at it!_ It can't hurt you. It's _dead_. It's nothing but a dead piece of meat!"

"No! Get it away from me!"

Malcolm hardened his heart and place the bloody carcass on her stomach.

She shrieked and jerked to dislodge it. Quickly, he placed the rest on her chest, around her neck. He hadn't stopped to give her the gag; she kept pleading with him to _stop; no; stop, please; daddy, please don't..._

He placed his palm alongside her face. "Come on, baby, just for an hour. Then I promise, it will be over." Inwardly, he cringed at his cowardice. "Look at me. Look into my eyes, Thea. I promised I'd never harm you, and I haven't. Trust me and just let go."

"I don't want to." She cried, just like a child.

"I know, baby, but just relax. Let it wash over you." He stood up a moment to get the clock and put it where she could see it.

Her eyes clutched at it.

"Breathe."

Wide eyes straining towards the clock, she began panting, then hyperventilating.

"Slow," he cautioned her. "Slow and easy."

Her eyes were going glassy again. He patted her cheek. "Stay with me, Thea. Thea?" She was going to pass out if she kept hyperventilating.

Malcolm put his hand over her mouth and pinched her nostrils shut. Instantly, her eyes focused on him and her body arched. Survival was a good motivator. He let her struggle a few moments more, then released her. She gasped desperately, but he clamped his hand down before she could exhale.

He held her down, his free hand on her shoulder, as she struggled. When he let go again, she gasped and started gulping air. "Just breathe," he told her again. He stroked her hair back from her forehead. "And stay with me, okay?"

She didn't answer, but her body started shaking.

===#===

Every muscle in Thea's body clenched tighter and tighter, until she feared they might snap like frayed bowstrings. A high-pitched whine squeezed from her chest, spiraled up into the back of her throat. The dead weight of the animals pressed on her. Slick, clammy blood smeared on her skin, her belly, her neck; it soaked into her clothing. The oily smell pervaded her nostrils. She could even feel various arrow points pressing against her - coated with rat's blood, ready to taint her with its sickness - one scratch and it would be _in_ her body.

Every part of her screamed to move, to run, to _get away_ , but it was useless. She was bound hand and foot. She tried to escape by retreating inside her mind, closing her eyes to deny the reality of her torment.

But she couldn't do that, either. Her father kept slapping her cheeks, insisting she keep her eyes open. They sought the face of the clock. An hour - he'd promised he'd let her go after on hour. _An hour!_ The damned hands hadn't even moved yet! Her vision blurred, then tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. There was a rat pressed up against her head; she could feel its fur touching the side of her face. Her tears merged with the thick blood clotting it. She dared not move her head, or the thing would rub against her as if nuzzling.

She struggled to control her breathing, which kept trying to spasm into shallow, rapid panting. Her father wouldn't allow that, either.

He spoke to her, his voice low, resonant, calm. "Come on, baby; you can do this. Try to use your rational mind. You _know_ this won't hurt you."

Rational thought? _I'm trapped in a pile of smelly, bloody, filthy rat corpses; GET ME OUT OF HERE_ was all her mind seemed capable of.

Perhaps another minute had gone by on the clock. A whimper of desperation squealed form her throat. She wouldn't survive.

She couldn't take this.

Not another minute. She'd die!

Her heart hammered, her lungs pumped raggedly. That whimpering seemed to come from some animal part of her that she couldn't control.

And yet, she still did not die.

Another minute passed.

_Just one more minute_ , she told herself. Forget an hour - that was forever. Just one more minute. She counted how many breaths it took until the clock hand moved. One. Slow. Tick. Then she started counting again.

_Just one more. Just one more. Just one more._

===#===

As time wore on, her body couldn't keep up the pace. Her heart pushed on like a long distance runner. Her chest rose and fell more slowly. Even that frightened animal whimpering inside her got tired.

"That's it, baby. You're doing well. Stay with it."

Then she began to feel cold. Especially her legs. She realized vaguely that she could no longer feel her feet. Then the numbing cold seeped into her arms, her shoulders, her chest and stomach.

The lukewarm blood cooled to clammy dampness. Sticky patches. The sensation of it dwindled. So did the bristle and oily slickness of fur, the poke of tiny paws, the prod of arrow tips, the weight and balance of the pile.

All she felt was cold. Her father's voice blurred into a meaningless background rumble. Her mind shut down.

She existed now only as the _thump thump thump_ of her heart, the _tick tick tick_ of the clock.

===#===

"Thea... Thea." Her father slapped her face a bit harder, trying to bring her around. "Thea? Come on. It's time."

Time?

She blinked. Her brain sluggishly tried to work.

Malcolm stood back. "Come on. Get up."

Thea moved her legs. They felt like wooden stumps. She flexed one arm; it was free of the ropes that had bound her. The pile of cold rat carcasses shifted.

Why wasn't he helping her? Why didn't he take these dreadful things away? Clumsily, she shifted. She pushed at the rats with one numb hand. Her body moved like a badly-wired marionette. She tried to sit up, but it was as if she'd forgotten how. She shoved a mass of bloody fur off her chest. Then she looked up at her father.

He was watching her in silence, his face pale and drawn in sorrow. Still, he did not move. Not until she reached out to him in a mute plea. Then he came forward and grasped her hand. He pulled her upright, held onto her as she found her balance.

He guided her to step out of the box. Her foot clunked against the wooden side. In a numb haze, she worked to get over the simple barrier. Her limbs all felt foreign to her, distant, as if she were operating them by remote control.

Malcolm said nothing, just patiently held her hand so she didn't fall. Once she was out of the box, she didn't know what to do. He tugged her gently towards the hall.

There was the door to her room. She wanted to lie down and sleep. She felt so cold.

But Malcolm guided her past that door and into the bathroom. Without letting go of her hand, he maneuvered so he could turn the hot water on in the shower. Then he turned to face her, put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

She didn't look at him. She didn't answer. Her tongue was as wooden and dead as her limbs.

"Thea? Honey, it's okay; you survived." He moved to embrace her.

She recoiled, clumsily pushed him away. She tipped back and lost her balance, but he caught her by the arms.

"Easy." He tried to look into her eyes again. She turned away. "Are you going to be all right to do this by yourself?"

She nodded. "I'm fine," she managed.

"That's my girl." He left her alone, with the door slightly ajar.

She didn't care. She worked her way out of her filthy clothes. Still, her body did not feel like her own. She stepped into the shower, unable to tell if it was hot enough, or too hot. She just stood under the spray, leaning her forehead against the tiled wall.

Steam rose around her; the noise of the water blocked the rest of the world. After... minutes? Hours? - she began to feel the heat.

Still she shivered. The heat could not reach her frozen core. She got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around herself, and went into her bedroom. She piled extra blankets on her bed, then crawled into it and curled up.

=== _X_ ===


	3. The Box III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final lesson about fears, as they were taught to Malcolm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT:  
> Rating: Mature  
> Flavor: Drama  
> Language: some  
> Violence: some  
> Nudity: none  
> Sex: none  
> Other: phobia trigger warnings still apply

**The Box III**

===#===

It was just a rat.

Thea stared down at it, not really registering it at all. She needed to get the arrow out of the thing. She seized it in her left hand, placing her fingers so the shaft passed between them, then pulled the arrow from the head end. The fletching came through the body with some twisting and a good yank.

She inspected the vanes. The feathers had folded down to pass through the narrow hole and then resumed their shape without too much of a problem. Flecks of clotted blood remained stuck to them, however. She ruffled the vanes with her thumb to clear them, but it would take a bit of cleaning and care to make sure they weren't gummed up.

It might be easier to cut the things apart to get the arrows free. Of course, there would be more blood that way, but at least it wouldn't be on the arrows. She tossed the carcass back into the basket and set the arrow on the patio table, then glanced over her shoulder. Malcolm was a few yards away, in shorts and T-shirt, scrubbing out the box. He had the hose out, and it would be a simple thing to spray down the patio once he was finished.

Thea wiped her hands on a rag, then pulled out her folding knife. She extended the blade and set to work.

===#===

Malcolm should have varnished the box; it would have made it easier to clean. He hoped they wouldn't need it for very long. At least the physical act of cleaning let his mind settle. He'd been having nightmares almost as bad as Thea's. He also accepted it as due penance for what he'd done to his daughter. And for being so much weaker than the true Masters in Nanda Parbat. Though he knew he was doing the right thing, he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. Penance suited his mood right now.

Thea walked over, wiping her hands on a rag. He didn't look up, but only watched her from the corner of his eye. She didn't say anything.

"All done?" he asked.

She nodded woodenly, staring off across the yard.

"Did you have any trouble?"

"No." She shook her head in the same manner.

"Good." He shut off the nozzle and sat back on his heels. He looked up at her, rubbing his cheek with the back of one hand. "I think you will find that there is a box inside your mind. A box where you can lock away all your fears, your emotions. It will leave your rational mind free to deal with any situation that arises."

She didn't answer. She didn't look at him. She'd been like that since last night. At dinner, then at breakfast, she hadn't looked at him, hadn't spoken to him. It was as if she denied his existence.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

She only shrugged, and turned her head away.

"It's okay if you feel angry. Even if you hate me," he said slowly, realizing that the strength he tried to give her came with a price. Love would suffer for it, but he was willing to sacrifice that, too. "I understand. I hated my Master for weeks after my ordeal."

He stared down at the wet grass, watching the pulse and gurgle where the hose nozzle leaked. It was mesmeric... He didn't notice when Thea settled to the ground, her long legs folded under her. When he glanced up, she was there.

Her eyes were shadowed, like ice within a cave, but at least she was looking at him. "So what happened?" She seemed willing, now, to learn from him.

Malcolm looked down at his hands. He could see the strength in them, feel it. Yet it was hard to begin. He took a breath. "I've always had a morbid fear of drowning. I didn't like swimming, or going on boats..." The sparkle of water caught his eye as it ran along the edge of the upturned box. It dripped down in chaotic rhythm. He interrupted its flow with his hand, let the water trickle across his palm. "When I was a child, I was even afraid to go bobbing for apples." He lowered his hand with a faint breath of a laugh. "It all seems so stupid, now."

Thea sat still on the grass, her hands on her knees, listening in silence. Like a student kneeling at the feet of a teacher.

"They would hold me down, force my head under the water. And I would fight, like an animal."

_It took four of them, grabbing at his wrists, his shoulders, his neck. Malcolm could twist out of their grip, throw them off. They defended themselves, but did not strike him back. His teacher paced slowly to his side. He gestured at the waiting washtub. "Into the water."_

_Malcolm turned, faced it, the cold steel, the clear water. He wanted to obey, but his legs froze, and he just couldn't._

_Then the Teacher's walking stick cracked across the back of his legs, and he fell to his knees. The others were on him in an instant, bending him over, forcing his head down. "No-!" His cry was cut off as the water slapped his face, invaded his mouth and nostrils. He thrashed to get away from it, but the hands held him down._

"No matter how many times my Teacher told me that it was my fear that robbed me of my breath, that if I just held still, I would be fine... No matter how many times I told myself that... I would just panic and lose all control."

_The water was a cold implacable force, pressing against him, suffocating him. He struggled to move, to get away, his lungs burning, his heart hammering, trying to squeeze the last dregs of oxygen from his blood. Then the hands holding him down pulled him back. The water released its hold reluctantly, clinging, running down his face, running from his hair. He gasped for air, coughed as water droplets were sucked into his throat._

_He could hardly hear his Teacher over the wheezing of his breath, the rushing of blood in his ears. "Fighting is not how you will conquer your fear. Face it. Embrace it."_

_"Teacher," he panted, "I... I can't."_

_"Again."_

_"No-!"_

"One day, they must have spent hours forcing me under... I was exhausted. But they wouldn't stop." His voice went a bit hoarse. He swallowed to wet his throat. "I actually felt something inside me snap. I didn't fight; I didn't care any more."

_He was cold, shivering, soaked to the skin. His knees hurt on the unyielding stone floor; his shoulders ached from pushing back on the men who held him down._

_"Teacher, please... I can't," rasped from his throat. "No more." He couldn't take any more._

_He was weak._

_"You must embrace your fear."_

_They wouldn't stop, and he couldn't fight them. He closed his eyes, he went limp. He let them drown him._

_Now, instead of slapping his face, the cool water stroked him, soothed him. It closed over his head and shut out the sounds of the temple. It left him cocooned in his own little world, where he could hear his heartbeat. It slowed. His eyes drifted open. He watched the patterns of light and shadow play upon the floor of the steel grey wash basin._

"I know that sounds like a bad thing, to lose that survival instinct, but that's not what happened," he said. "When I didn't fight, my heart didn't pound, my muscles didn't burn up my oxygen. I just didn't need to breathe so desperately. I remained calm."

_Cool serenity filled him. He could still feel the pressure of air locked within his lungs, but not the urgency to breathe. He felt weightless, drifting..._

_Then there was a light touch on his shoulder. "Arise," came the water-muffled voice of his Teacher._

"Fear no longer ruled me. I could control it."

Thea contemplated this. Her eyes cleared. Then she asked, "But you were still angry?"

He took another breath. "To prove the conquest of my fear, the Master told me to breathe the water in."

Her jaw dropped as she tried to imagine. "What did you do?"

"I didn't want to. I was afraid all over again. 'Master,' I said. 'I'll drown.'"

_"Breathe the water in."_

_"Master... I'll drown."_

_"Then you have learned nothing, conquered nothing, and your fear still rules you."_

_Malcolm looked down at the placid water in the basin. This one was a wooden half-cask; the bottom was dark, like a deep pit. His heart thumped. "What if I can't?"_

_He felt the demon's hand on the back of his neck. "Then I will hold you down until you have no choice. No choice, no control. And you will die."_

_He took a breath, held it, and bent to the water, not waiting to be pushed. He remained in control, at least that much. He opened his eyes, but saw only the blackness. His heart raced, though he tried to still it._

_All he had to do was embrace death._

_Surely the Master didn't intend for him to die. It was only a test._

_The hand on his neck weighed heavily._

_Malcolm struggled fiercely, not against the demon's hand, but against himself. His body refused to bend to his will._

"Dad..." Thea's tentative voice penetrated his thoughts. Her cool, shadowed eyes sought his own. "What did you do?"

He licked his lips. "I learned exactly how painful it is to drown."

"My God."

 _Of all the foes he'd had to face, in all the training and sparring and testing - this was the strongest: himself._ My will is all. _Survival meant nothing if he wasn't in control._

_Breathe the water in._

_And he did._

_Water ripped into his nasal passages, his windpipe, burning with cauterizing intensity. His throat seized, choking him like a chain wrapped around his neck. The world was spinning; he came upright, whether helped by the demon's hand or an implacable force against it, he never knew._

_He twisted on the hard stone floor. His lungs heaved, and a spray of water exploded from his throat. As soon as they were empty, they desperately sucked in more air, but his nose was still blocked with water, and every gasp brought more of the burning liquid spattering into his airway. He coughed harder, then retched, and his stomach heaved and expelled more water._

_He collapsed soon after, black sparks dancing in his vision, his lungs tearing themselves ragged._

"They took me to the infirmary to recover," he said, exhaling slowly now that the ordeal of retelling the episode was over. "I was there a few days." He met her eyes again. "That's when I learned another very important lesson. Not only could I face my fear, but I could survive it."

"That's worse than..." Thea's eyes roamed past him to the still-dripping box. "Than the rats." Her voice was a near whisper. She snapped her attention back to him. "You could have died."

He nodded. "Rats won't kill you, Thea. I think you learned that. It's the fear. When you freeze up, or panic and lose control, or when you scream and alert your enemies... It makes you turn back when you should go on. It makes you hesitate when you should act. It makes you weak."

She looked down at her hands a long moment, wringing the bloodstained cloth. He hoped she learned from what he'd told her. She licked her lips. "So... in order to prove this control over fear... I have to do it again." By the time she finished, it was no longer a question. She realized it fully. Her eyes went back to the box.

"Yes," he told her gently, but implacably. Still, his weakness made him waver. "Not right away. It will take some time to-"

"Don't tell me." She looked back to him. "Don't tell me what you're doing or when it's going to be. Just call me when it's ready."

"So you'll do it?" He was, frankly, surprised.

"To learn to live my life without pain, and without fear? Of course I will." She got to her feet. "That's the definition of happiness, isn't it? That's what I want."

A weight lifted from Malcolm's shoulders. He smiled softly. "You truly are my daughter."

=== _X_ ===


End file.
